TSBIRBV Ch 312

Chapter 312. The Bird Leaves Its Nest (4)

“Is that… really all right?”

If it were merely about money, or some foolish blunder born of ignorance, Yegyeol might have laughed it off.

But impersonating the Flood Dragon King—and provoking none other than the Peng Clan of Hebei?

The Peng Clan would never dispatch their elite warriors merely to guard a trading caravan.

Whoever these impostors were, they possessed far greater skill than ordinary escorts.

Yet, if they were truly that powerful, why bother assuming the Flood Dragon King’s name to commit theft?

And why, after annihilating their targets, had they let one survivor escape?

Strange. Something’s off.

Yegyeol turned his eyes toward Haryang.

Were these impersonators targeting the Flood Dragon King himself?

Or was their goal to spark conflict between the River Alliance and the Peng Clan?

“Lord Peng, a letter arrived from Yegok Village…”

Almost at the same instant Yegyeol’s gaze met his, Haryang raised the envelope he had been carrying beneath his basket.

Like a predator scenting blood, the Raging Tiger’s head snapped toward him.

“The investigation reports that members of the Flood Dragon Band killed martial artists dispatched by the Golden Fish Hall.”

“What?”

Yegyeol blinked in disbelief.

Wearing Hongye’s face, Haryang merely shook his head slowly.

“The Central Plains truly is a frightening place.”

“Let me see that.”

Peng Munhyeong strode forward and held out his hand. Haryang obediently passed him the letter.

As he read through what appeared to be Yeonsoseo’s handwriting, the Raging Tiger’s eyes trembled.

“Damn… if this is true, then perhaps the one called Master Nosa is backed by the Flood Dragon Band.

Then again, bandits who make their living raiding wouldn’t bother managing the labor themselves. They’d need manpower.”

Yegyeol nearly laughed aloud at the growing tangle of misunderstanding.

From what he’d learned while dealing with Yeonsoseo, those who worked for the Flood Dragon Band were well paid—for both secrecy and risk to their lives.

‘It’s hard to find skilled hands with no ties and no loose tongues.’

Surely Haryang knew this, yet he remained silent even as his subordinates were being accused of murder.

Yegyeol tilted his head, curious about what kind of web his master was weaving this time.

Perhaps to redirect the conversation, Haryang spoke.

“I’ll need to borrow my lord for a while. There’s something I must purchase in the market, and I’m not well versed in Central Plains dealings.”

“I could go along—”

The ever-helpful Tang Segi stepped forward, but Hwangbo Yulhui gently blocked his path.

“If Lord Tang doesn’t mind, might you show me to my room?”

It seemed she wanted to persuade the true owner of the house to approve her stay. She even cast Yegyeol a grateful glance.

Ah. So she thinks she’s giving us privacy.

Yegyeol decided to accept the misunderstanding with a pleasant smile and a nod.

Haryang set the basket down where the sunlight pooled, then fell into step beside Yegyeol.

They walked out of the annex and through the inn’s front gates in a silence that was anything but uncomfortable.

It was… peaceful, somehow.

From time to time, Haryang’s sleeve brushed against Yegyeol’s shoulder.

They didn’t hold hands, but the closeness between them was enough to make Yegyeol’s heart hum.

He looked up at Haryang’s face, and found those dark eyes already meeting his.

“…Hm?”

“Nothing.”

Yegyeol’s lips quirked upward of their own accord.

He must have been watching him—otherwise, how could he have reacted so quickly?

That simple fact filled Yegyeol with quiet delight.

The weight of his gaze on his cheek tickled faintly, and the sunlight above was warm.

The tournament, the rumors he’d spread, the chaos of Murim—it all felt like distant memories.

Even with Hwangbo Yulhui’s runaway and the impersonation of the Flood Dragon King stirring new trouble, this small moment of calm happiness astonished him.

“Where are we going?”

“The market,” Haryang replied. “To meet a merchant.”

He spoke formally, like Hongye—or perhaps, like the Black Ghost himself, careful of listening ears.

Yegyeol chuckled softly.

“That’s too bad. I’d have preferred somewhere… we could be alone.”

He felt the faint hitch in the man’s step beside him.

Suppressing a laugh, Yegyeol tilted his head up innocently, as if he’d said nothing amiss.

Would the face beneath that thin disguise be flushed with embarrassment, or frozen with quiet composure?

Either way, it was fun to imagine.

Perhaps because of that teasing remark, Haryang subtly changed direction.

They left the bustling marketplace behind, entering a quieter residential area—still lively, but more refined.

Few people walked the streets here, though a few carriages passed now and then.

Most of the pedestrians were richly dressed.

Yegyeol followed closely until they stopped before a stately building.

The doorkeeper, upon seeing Haryang, lifted the curtain with his own hands.

Yegyeol followed him inside.

At first glance, it looked like an ordinary household.

But within—it resembled a museum, filled with treasures on display though without any glass between them and the guests.

It was clearly a place meant to impress visitors.

“Welcome.”

A gentle-looking matron greeted them. Her clothes, her demeanor, even the jade bracelet on her wrist spoke of wealth and refinement.

“This way, to the inner room,” Haryang said curtly.

She opened a door, revealing a staircase, and stepped aside.

Yegyeol thought they would go up—but Haryang instead walked around it, toward what appeared to be a solid wall.

Then, with practiced ease, he opened a hidden panel.

“That was a wall, wasn’t it?”

“It’s designed to look like one. This way.”

His tone had shifted back to his usual one—no longer Hongye’s soft-spoken voice, but Haryang’s natural one.

So this is his domain, Yegyeol thought, heart thrumming as he followed.

At the heart of the garden stood a pavilion open on all sides.

The high walls surrounding it made it impossible to peek in from outside.

But sound could still carry… probably.

Yegyeol sat where Haryang gestured.

As if anticipating his concern, Haryang spoke first.

“There’s a formation in place. Speak freely.”

“So, no one can see or hear us?”

“They’ll sense nothing. Even if they do, they’ll forget soon after.”

“Ah.”

Yegyeol reached up, fingertips brushing the man’s neck.

Haryang’s hand shot up instinctively, gripping his wrist with a strength that made Yegyeol’s breath catch.

Their eyes met—dark, unblinking.

Yegyeol smiled faintly. The grip loosened.

His hand slid against the man’s skin, tracing the familiar lines he’d once been taught to find.

“Mmh…”

A faint twitch ran through Haryang’s body—not from ticklishness, but tension.

He sat rigid as Yegyeol fought to suppress his laughter.

Haryang still wore Hongye’s mask.

If Yegyeol kissed that borrowed face, the man might misunderstand his intent entirely.

“There.”

When Yegyeol finally peeled off the disguise, the man facing him looked faintly awkward.

“Is this why you wanted to find a private place?”

Yegyeol didn’t answer. He just looked at that familiar face, and the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“I missed you.”

He clasped Haryang’s hand, weaving his fingers through his.

The man accepted the impulsive gesture with a low chuckle as Yegyeol climbed onto his lap.

Every time, he was caught off guard—every time, Yegyeol pushed forward without hesitation.

In that boldness, Haryang found both joy and exasperation.

Yegyeol looped his arms around his neck.

“What about you, Master?”

Perhaps it was to trap Haryang’s gaze, to keep him from looking away, that he asked so.

And Haryang—unable to help himself—smiled.

Whether consciously or not, Yegyeol always drew him in. A true hunter’s instinct.

There had been no choice but to take this disciple. But whenever Haryang glimpsed that sharp wit and hidden talent, he thought perhaps he’d been the fortunate one.

At times like this, he even felt a strange pride—an urge to nurture him.

“Well… the one I wish to see walks freely in the daylight, unlike me.”

A crooked smile touched his lips.

Yegyeol pouted, unable to argue with such a Heavenly Demon-esque statement.

After all, this was Wuhuan—just after the Dragon and Phoenix Tournament.

Countless masters from the era of Je Haryang had come to watch their disciples compete.

Even Perfected Yonghyeon of Wudang had arrived early, for the sake of his disciple, the Azure Dragon.

And that was just one of many.

According to Peng Munhyeong, representatives from every great sect—the Nine Great Schools, the Five Great Houses, and even minor clans—were flooding in for the upcoming Murim Alliance conference.

Most of these officials were once prodigies themselves—youths who had shone brightly in their generation.

Many of them would have belonged to the Dragon and Phoenix Assembly led by Je Haryang.

In other words, all across the Central Plains, those who had once lived through his era—who remembered his face—were now gathering in Wuhuan.

And it’s not like his face is easy to forget.

He hadn’t merely aged—he’d reverted, his features restored to their youthful prime.

He looked like he’d stepped straight out of someone’s memories.

At least ten of those former prodigies had him as their first love, Yegyeol thought dryly.

Even if time had dulled their memories, he was certain they’d remember him now—especially since Yegyeol’s schemes had revived the legend of Je Haryang across the entire martial world.

Meanwhile, Yegyeol himself had yet to be exposed—and as the reigning champion of the tournament, he could roam freely by day.

Haryang, disguised as Hongye, hovered nearby, so what more could he possibly want?

“You’re mean,” Yegyeol said finally.

How could someone so serious in all things still find such delight in teasing him?

Well, maybe it means he’s comfortable with me, he admitted inwardly.

In truth, Yegyeol didn’t mind his teasing—it was proof that Haryang was allowing himself something he rarely had.

Still, he gave him an exaggerated glare.

And Haryang, smiling faintly, leaned close and murmured,

“But… I’ve missed this.”

He took Yegyeol’s wrist gently, guiding it upward, pressing his lips to the palm.

The touch was both heavy and soft, a kiss that was tender yet deliberate.

Then, resting his cheek against Yegyeol’s hand, he looked up—eyes dark, steady, and filled with a depth that stirred the air itself.

For all the gentleness of his gesture, those eyes were heavy with something far less innocent.

Desire—black and deep as shadow.